


Stay Alive

by thomasjeffersonsmacaroni



Series: The Other 51 [29]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 16:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10338918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni/pseuds/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni
Summary: The story of the Survivors.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gayshina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayshina/gifts).



> I set myself a goal to at least mention every single role that exists in ToS. That's why the disg is here. And also because Sorrel once said that they liked the disg/forger ship? I think?  
> So this one's for you. I love you.

There was, at one point, a time when the games ran out of players. Simply too many people were dying, and not enough people were coming in. And when the mysterious director realized that something needed to be done, she put pen to paper and created the role of Survivor.

They would be kidnapped from their homes, from their families, from their lives. And they would be given four vests, pushed into a house, and told to stay alive.

Don't get lynched. Don't get shot by a Mafioso or a Vigilante, or stabbed by a Serial Killer. Don't get controlled into paying a visit to an alerting Veteran. Don't get ignited by an Arsonist. So many ways to die, and those little vests protected from only a few of them.

 

The first Survivor was a teenage boy studying to become an engineer. His skin was pale and freckled, and the burn mark on his arm signifying that he was a prisoner stood out sharply against the rest of him. He put his vest on every night, but the one night that he ran out, and the night that his heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he couldn't sleep, was also the night that a Vigilante finally shot him.

The second Survivor was a tiny bit more memorable. During the process of burning, and the process of entering the town, she did not cry once.

"All right, nerds," she declared on Day 1. "I'm the Survivor. I'll side with whoever helps me get the hell out of here. Whether that's the mafia, or the serial killer, or the town...I genuinely don't care. As long as I'm alive, I don't give a single flying fuck."

She did not vote once. She spent her days and her nights reading, and it wasn't until the shrewd Consigliere and the beautiful Disguiser approached her that she started voting with the mafia. And then, she firmly went to the office and changed her role to Forger. She couldn't bear to be separated from her new friends.

Or more. The Forger wanted more so, so badly.

But while she was rejoicing in the new role she had, the other players were talking and talking.

Survivors were meant to be neutral. But this one had become a member of the mafia. And that fact spread through whispers, festering and festering until it formed into a solid idea.

_Survivors are not to be trusted._

 

The third Survivor had curly hair that she had painstakingly forced into two braids. Her glasses were as wide and round as her eyes, and she carried a book in one hand.

She had come with the Forger's story and a decision: stay neutral - that is, until one group had a majority - and stay alive. But she had come blissfully oblivious to the story's end, and to the hatred that she would face.

"I-I'm the Survivor!" she squeaked first night, standing on tiptoes to be just a little bit taller. "Help me stay alive, and I'll help you!"

She did not hear the whispers that were spreading through the crowd, or she didn't care about them. But that night, as she stared at the pillow on her bed, tears streaming down her eyes, she put the cold metal vest on under her elephant pajamas just in case.

That night, she awoke to the sound of a gunshot and the blade of a knife scraping against her vest. If she hadn't thought to put it on, she would have experienced a double kill.

 

The next day, the mafia and the Serial Killer each had a body count of one. And next to the Framer's and the Vigilante's bodies were two bloody notes, each saying practically the same thing.

_Number Eight is immune._

"I'm the Survivor!" she protested. "I put on my vest! I'm not evil! Please!"

"Don't trust survs," someone said, and that whisper spread throughout the entire crowd.

"No faction loses anything from your death."

"No one cares about survivors."

"Survivors are just evils in disguise."

"Lynch her."

"Lynch her."

"Lynch her."

And the vote of guilty was unanimous, and it seemed as if the young girl had died from its impossible weight, not the noose tightening around her neck.

 

She was not mourned when she died. No one cared about a Survivor.


End file.
